


Text Messaging

by SoftlyTea



Series: The Misguided Adventures of Liya and her Superiorly-Bred Mer [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belting, Blindfolds, Chair Sex, Consensual Beating, Consensual Kink, D/s, D/s by text, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Modern AU, Sex, Text messaging, Vaginal Fingering, a tiny nod to aftercare, a tiny nod to subspace, consensual D/S, good things come to those who wait, is that even a word, other uses for office furniture, texting at work, work frustrations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9698114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftlyTea/pseuds/SoftlyTea
Summary: Thalmor gonna Thalmor, even in 2017.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A modern AU fic! This was fun. 
> 
> References Imani. If you haven't met Imani yet, go and read ImDex's work because you're totally missing out.
> 
> Obligatory warnings: this fic contains descriptions of safe, sane and consensual sexual violence. Please look after yourself and do not read if this is likely to trigger you in any way. There is no explicit mention of boundaries or safewords, because it would have been an ongoing discussion for the couple in question over a very long period of time. Just... If you have even a passing interest in trying this sort of stuff out for yourself, please do it safely and respectfully and not like fucking 50 Shades of Sociopathy. PSA over.

Liya glared at her computer screen and fought off a rising desire to smack her head against the keyboard. Whatever such an act produced was bound to be of more value than anything she actually put conscious thought into at this point on a Fredas afternoon. 

 

It had been a long week - a long month, really - and there had been a limit to how many procrastinatory texts she could send to Ondolemar before he, too, had had to put his phone away and attempt to get some work done. She would put money on him having been far more successful in his attempt than her. 

 

Her email programme pinged and she scowled hatefully at the little notification, the latest in a long line of correspondence with a colleague about yet another deal and yet another batch of paperwork - 'Liya, I hate to drop this on you, but they want their shipment expedited and the documentation sent over by close of business today. Could you get on it?'

 

Fucking hell. Well, at least it gave her something concrete to do. She sighed, shot back a confirmatory email, and was just about to reach out and take a sip of her fast-cooling tea when her phone vibrated insistently on the desk next to her. 

 

One new message. She smirked. No prizes for guessing who this was going to be from. 

 

'I shall be working late tonight. I expect to be home at 6.30.' 

 

She sighed, and was just about to reply with something sympathetic and an offer to pick up takeaway on her way back when the little 'Typing a message' icon appeared. She watched it curiously. 

 

'When I return, I will find you naked, blindfolded, and bent over the desk in my study. You will not move. You will not speak until you are spoken to. Is that understood?'

 

Liya sent fervent thanks to the divines, not for the first time, that she had her own office. She didn't think she could have come up with a convincing explanation for her sudden whimper, squirm and flushed cheeks otherwise. 

 

She bit her lip, replied with a simple 'yes' knowing that the lack of honorific was going to land her in the most delicious trouble, and dropped her phone into her handbag.

 

Sure enough, it vibrated almost straight away. She didn't need to read it to know that it would say words to the effect of 'yes,  _ what _ ?' 

 

She ignored it. That shipment wasn't going to expedite itself.

 

\--

 

Three hours and nineteen minutes later, and Liya was in turmoil. 

 

She had followed his instructions to the letter, and hadn't quite appreciated the extent to which they would affect her. It had taken her a little while to process her situation, as it had seemed faintly ridiculous at first. 'How was your Fredas evening, Liya?' 'Oh, you know Imani, I blindfolded myself and stripped and bent myself over a desk in an empty house and just kind of chilled there for a while until Ondolemar came home and...' and what? Took his belt to me? Fucked me senseless? Took his belt to me  _ then _ fucked me senseless? 

 

She giggled nervously to the empty room, but as she contemplated how her evening would pan out, she found that the slight self-consciousness her situation had aroused in her had melted away, leaving something far preferable in its wake. 

 

A car pulled up outside, and a minute later its door slammed shut. She strained to hear his key in the front door, his footsteps on the stairs, but - nothing. 

 

It must have been the neighbours. 

 

The leather of his desk top was warm under her cheek and smelled evocative. It reminded her of the ceremonial robes he had to wear for important company events, the ones she had taken great delight in helping him to defile on more than one occasion. 

 

A familiar throbbing sensation between her thighs accompanied the memory. 

 

The solid wood of the edge of his desk felt smooth and she ran her hands over it appreciatively. Good to cling to. She would need to, if this evening was going to go even slightly as she was anticipating.

 

The throbbing ache intensified. 

 

She squirmed restlessly and allowed her fingers to curl around the edge of the desk. He hadn't explicitly told her that he didn't want to find her touching herself, but she thought it would probably fall under the 'You will not move' category.

 

The clock was loud. Strange. She hadn't noticed it before now, but there it was, insistently marking off the seconds until he came home to find her... well, 'naked, blindfolded and bent over the desk in his study,' as the message had specified.

 

The message  _ hadn’t _ specified 'dripping wet and aching for him', but she didn't suppose he would hold that against her. 

 

_ Tick. _

 

She licked her dry lips and swallowed. It was an effort. 

 

_ Tick.  _

 

What time was it, anyway? It must be nearly 6.30. She had heard the clock downstairs chime the quarter-hour what seemed like an eternity ago, so it couldn't be long now. 

 

_ Tick.  _

 

She wondered where he would start, and her fingers dug a little harder into the wood of the desk with every deliciously painful scenario her brain presented her with.

 

_ Tick.  _

 

And then, from downstairs, two sounds that caused her stomach to flip and her breath to catch in her throat - the chime of the hall clock, and right on cue, the sound of a key turning in the door. Her heart hammered in her chest as the moments slipped by. She imagined him shrugging off his overcoat - did she imagine the weary sigh of the overworked, or had being deprived of sight heightened her hearing? - setting down his bag, and then...

 

Footsteps on the stairs, and she counted them, there would be fourteen, she knew, and with each one her pulse quickened and she bit her tongue to stifle a whimper - did whimpers count as infractions of 'You will not speak?' 

 

Thirteen. A whine escaped her throat and she swallowed it down desperately. 

 

Fourteen, and heavy footsteps that made the floorboards of the landing creak, and...

 

Silence. 

 

Fuck, what was he doing? She would hear him opening the door, wouldn't she? 

 

She  _ had _ closed the door, hadn't she?

 

...Hadn't she? She couldn't be sure anymore.

 

She was nearly beside herself now, biting her lip to prevent - something - escaping from her mouth, probably a scream of some heady mix of anticipation and arousal and fear, clinging to the desk in a death grip and trying so, so hard not to squirm, because what if he was watching... 'You will not move'...

 

And then the door creaked open, and the whole atmosphere changed, electrified somehow, and while part of the anticipation she had been experiencing shattered in a haze of adrenaline and relief, it only served to heighten the other sensations warring for supremacy in her.

  
  
  


\--

 

Ondolemar, most uncharacteristically, did not have a specific plan in mind as he arrived home. No plan, that is, beyond throwing her off-balance, which was why he slammed the car door hard enough for the sound to drift up to his study window, and then waited on the front doorstep until he heard the hall clock chime from within. 

 

He loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his collar as he made his way up the stairs. 

 

Divines above, the sight that awaited him was everything that he had been anticipating since he sent that text message earlier that afternoon, and more. The curves of her calves, thighs, backside. The folds of her cunt peeking from between her legs, swollen and inviting and glistening with arousal.

 

He idly considered skipping to the end, which he thought would probably involve burying himself in that sweet little sex and ensuring that she would never be able to look at a leather-topped desk in the same way again, although perhaps that latter part of the plan had already been accomplished.

 

He managed to tear his gaze away for long enough to circle her with measured steps. She was clinging to his desk with a grip so hard her knuckles were turning white, her teeth clamped down over her bottom lip so firmly he was sure she'd make it bleed, and he could hear her breathing, heavy and fast and desperate and catching in her throat with each inhalation and he couldn't remember ever feeling quite so aroused so quickly. 

 

_ Focus. This requires care and attention.  _

 

'Liya, my sweet girl,' he murmured, running a gentle hand over the small of her back to come to rest on the curve of her backside. Every muscle in her body stiffened at the unexpected tenderness of his voice and his touch, and she mistrusted both. 'We need to talk about your behaviour today.'

 

Her exhalation sounded almost like a sob. No, of course he wasn't going to be gentle and sweet and caring to her. 

 

He continued.

 

'It is not appropriate for you to send me such messages while I am at work. It is not appropriate for you to be quite so slothful in your own duties. And it is certainly not appropriate for you to fail to address me properly. You will be corrected for these things, and if you resist, you will be corrected for that, too. Is that clear?'

 

She could scarcely choke out a response for the lump in her throat, but managed a 'yes', somehow. Her tormented mind scrambled to inform her that she really should have put a sir, or a commander, or something on the end of that, but too late - any attempts were swallowed up in the yelp that was wrenched from her by the sharp slap that landed where his hand had stilled just moments before. 

 

It wasn't painful, as such - not yet - but it held dark threats of more to come.

 

'...Commander,' she whimpered, in the hopes that remembering, however late, would spare her future pain.

 

'Oh, dear.' He sounded rather disappointed. That would be a no, then. 

 

Liya, sweet little masochist that she was, had been intimately acquainted with his belt on more occasions than one, and she knew exactly what was coming, knew exactly what the sound of his belt buckle meant, knew exactly what was in store for her, and yet, no matter how many times it happened and how much she enjoyed it, it still had the power to absolutely terrify her. 

 

Please don't make me count, she prayed silently to whatever divine listened to pleas regarding sexual torture. However many I get, I don't care, just please don't make me count them. 

 

Liya had quickly learned that she was not good at counting when she probably couldn't even have remembered her own name. Being given further opportunities to practice, also, had proven ineffective.

 

\--

  
  


Ondolemar licked his lips and felt the weight of the belt in his hand. This was, quite simply, the best part. He paused to take it all in; her frantic breathing, the way she clung to the desk, her face - even with the blindfold, he could tell she had her eyes screwed shut. There was something so appealing to it all.

 

And then, without warning, he brought the belt down sharply across her trembling backside. Not as hard as he was planning to work up to, but hard enough for her to tense delightfully and make a noise somewhere between a yelp of pain and a sign of relief that finally, at last, the tension had broken. 

 

The next two followed behind, the pace leisurely, with time enough between each strike for the pain to blossom hotly and then subside to a dull ache. Liya hissed through her teeth, but no more. 

 

He reached forward and brushed her hair away from her neck before leaning down to be level with her ear. 'Good girl,' he soothed as she made a very obvious effort to stay still. 'Ten.'

 

He straightened, took a step back, sized up his target. By his reckoning, she would be rather less restrained by the end of the next set.  

 

'Ready?'

 

Ondolemar could forgive the slight hesitation before her muffled 'Yes, sir,' was forthcoming. After all, she knew it was wrong to tell lies, and she probably wasn't. 

 

He smiled to himself, and began. The secret, he knew, was to start off almost gently, so that her fear would heighten the sensations of the harder ones.  _ Almost  _ gently, however, still meant harder than he had been. 

 

By five, he was sure her fingernails would leave dents in his desk, and she had gone a very pleasing shade of red.

By seven, she was biting down on her arm to stifle what would probably be very close to shrieks.

 

He leaned over her once more and ran his hand over the welts his belt had left. She sniffled, and he felt sure that he wouldn't be too long before he had reduced her to the outright tears he was planning to. Her skin burned under his touch, and he could only imagine how it felt for her. He smirked at the thought, and decided she deserved some variety.

 

Liya was utterly incapable of suppressing the moan that accompanied his hand reaching between her legs and over her slick folds. 

 

A snide little laugh behind her. 'You're soaked. Are you  _ enjoying _ this, Breton?' 

 

Liya frantically searched for something to say that wouldn't anger him, and found nothing.

 

'Urm...' she started, weakly, knowing that silence in the face of a direct question was not advisable, but it seemed he was in a forgiving mood as his insistent fingers found her clit and began to tease it with practised expertise. 

 

'Look at you,' he growled as she squirmed and pressed against his hand, 'I think you could come very quickly from this. Don't you?'

 

She was just about to agree when he snatched his hand away cruelly - 'But we were only on seven' - drew his arm back and hit her, for the first time, with all his strength.  

 

This time, Liya could not suppress her cry. It was particularly unfortunate, too, that her self-preservation instinct chose the moment just before the tenth stroke to kick in. It was even more unfortunate that such an instinct manifested itself not as biting her lip, enduring her punishment and reflecting on her misdeeds as it should have done to be most effective, but instead as trying futilely to wriggle out of the way.

 

Ondolemar's sigh as he pushed down forcibly onto her back with his left elbow and fisted his hand into her hair before delivering his delayed, brutal tenth sounded rather more disappointed than angry. 

 

Was that a sob? 

 

'I'm sorry, I-'

 

He ignored her.

 

'You get five more like that, and another three for moving.'

 

'No, please-' Any complaints she might have had degenerated into a shriek as another burning strike found its mark. 

 

'And that's for speaking out of turn,  _ twice _ . Eight more, then.'

 

At the fourth, she was sobbing exactly as he had hoped, her shoulders convulsing and these sad pathetic little hiccoughing breaths being wrenched from her throat with every blow that fell. 

 

At the sixth, her world had imploded into a white-hot nucleus of agony and ecstasy and she was not Liya anymore, just blinding pain and tears and nothing else.

 

When she finally felt gentle fingers trail up her back and soft lips ghosting up her neck, she nearly wept in relief. 

 

'Shh.' A tender, reassuring voice broke through into her shattered consciousness and slowly began knitting it back together. 'It's alright, Breton. You're alright. You're going to let go of the desk, now, and I'm going to help you to stand. Can you do that for me?'

 

Liya slowly uncurled her fingers in a daze, and solid arms wrapped around her waist, took her weight, and helped her to straighten up. She winced as the movement sent fresh waves of pain through her, and stumbled slightly as she found her feet.

 

'That's it. Good girl.' He scooped her up into his arms and made his way over to sink down into his desk chair with her, positioning her so she was kneeling astride him and freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing. 

 

This, he knew from experience, would not take long. 

 

He kissed her neck, so gently it made her shudder, and guided her down onto him. Her moan of utter ecstasy as he entered her, coupled with the feeling of her warmth enveloping him nearly made him come then and there, but he gritted his teeth and held back, allowing her to set her own pace. He relaxed into the steady rhythm she set, losing himself utterly in her escalating pleasure, the little keening noises she was making, the way she clung to his shoulders like they had replaced the desk...

 

Until she buried her tear-stained face in his shoulder and came with a shriek of gratitude and relief and passion all rolled into one, and collapsed bonelessly on top of him. 

 

He was not far behind. 

 

\--

 

Ondolemar brought his arms up to encircle his wife, his gentleness a stark contrast to his earlier treatment of her, and stroked her hair .

 

'I love you, darling.'

 

She giggled weakly against his neck. 'Welcome home.'

 

'I'm going to take off your blindfold for you. Alright?'

 

She nodded and allowed him to slowly peel the damp cloth away from her eyes. He smiled up at her, rubbing his thumb gently over her tear-stained cheeks and kissing her nose. 

 

'Hi,' he said.

 

She looked down at him, his loosened tie and his undone button, his heavy-lidded eyes, his smile soft and warm and gentle. Her backside throbbed and burned still, and sitting down was going to be an issue for several days, and she felt full and sated and every nerve in her body felt exhausted, and she thought her heart would break for love of him.

 

She grinned. 

 

'Hi.'


End file.
